Her Smile Remains
by SporkGoddess
Summary: MSG - After certain events of MSG, Mayor Eschonbach of NYC looks back and wonders how his daughter Icelina could have made the decisions that she did -- vignette, spoilerific


Her Smile Remains   
  
By the Almighty Sporkgoddess 

  
  
No one knows it anymore, but I still have a picture of her. It's not on my desk anymore; that changed the day that I found out she was involved with a Zabi. The frame is broken, because after proceeding to take out my rage on her, I then proceeded to take out my rage on the same person, the ten-year-old unsuspecting little girl who had asked for piggy-back-rides and constantly begged her nanny for lollipops.   
  
That same girl... my daughter.  
  
Sometimes, I take it out from its reclusive drawer and look at it. She smiles back at me, seemingly uncaring that I'd hit her hard enough to break the glass and cut my wrist, not caring whether or not my blood stained the picture. It didn't, but now I can't help but see her own blood staining the picture. The blood that he had spilled.  
  
My daughter, an idiot. Blonde-just like her mother-fetching, in the literal sense of the term, as she literally fetched the attention of many a guy. It wasn't her fault, and I never cared, as I was a very busy man and she always ignored them. Insecure, she was; the reason the picture of her that I have is so outdated is partly because after that age she grew to hate getting her picture taken. But, there was one man she did not ignore-and he was ironically the one man she should have.  
  
A Zeon. A dirty Zeek. And not just any Zeek, one of their Zabi monarchy. A Prince. The Zeek to end all Zeeks. A boy whose father had without qualms killed millions of people within one week. The very type of people I was adamantly and outspokenly against. And my daughter was seeing one. As a father, why shouldn't I have been upset?   
  
Was it wrong? I ask the chipper little girl behind the fragmented glass. She tells me, no, daddy, you did the right thing. You're the best daddy in the world. I love you. Can you take me to get ice cream today? I know you're busy...  
  
I think that's why I like this picture best. That's the response a girl should have. Uncaring about politics, loyal and trusting to her father's views. A father knows best, not some girl with barely twenty years under her belt.  
  
The girl in the picture, she agrees with me, I know. She knew that when I punished her, it was for her own good. She may have cried, but she didn't question me. But, her older counterpart, she did. She didn't listen. I had to go beyond spankings and time-outs. She got some bad bruises, had to cover them up with whatever the hell women use on their faces. And again I ask, was I wrong?  
  
I look at the picture again for reassurance. She smiles up at me with her crooked smile, sticky lipped from the candle apples at the carnival where it was taken--I hadn't gone that day, a meeting had come up, but her nanny had told me that it was fun-and her eyes sparkle with the vigor and vivaciousness of a girl whose life consists of nothing more than pleasing her father, as it should.   
  
She smiles. I look for her response; a nod, perhaps. But she makes no move. She stays silent. Of course she won't respond, I tell myself, it's just a picture. The real girl is dead. She died in the name of that Zeek. I should stop living in the past.  
  
But the girl with the flower painted on her face by a carnie for a few cents smudged from her pudgy hand, she keeps smiling. And I ask her, why? Why do you smile at me? You hated me. I tried to make you understand, and I did what I had to. I meant no harm, I really did. You have to understand, Icelina... you have to.  
  
... Right?  
  
Her smile remains. Her eyes are bright. But she does not respond. She will not tell me. Sorry, daddy, but maybe you should have paid more attention to me. Taken off of work a little more, played with me... hit me less. Then maybe I would have made better decisions.  
  
That's ridiculous, I'd tell her if she could hear me. I tried hard. I did what I felt I had to. You can't blame me.   
  
Against my will, I look again at the picture for reassurance. But, she remains unresponsive.   
  
She won't tell me...  
  
And I will never know.   
  
  
_Author's Notes: Thanks to Kishiria for this idea, Ana for the title, and to the Goo Goo Dolls for their song Broadway is Dark Tonight, which inspired me while writing this._


End file.
